


hexes and hurricanes

by spacegirlkj



Series: blooming enchantment [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Light Angst, Modern witches au, Multi, christmas!!!!!! its gay and holidays, death mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 17:32:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9000166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacegirlkj/pseuds/spacegirlkj
Summary: winter sets in, and a different kind of magic begins to arrive-modern witches au





	

**Author's Note:**

> merry christmas~  
> unbetad OOPS sorry for any mistakes

Despite his shivering frame, he is on fire.

Literally, of course. Oikawa looks down at his hand where the flame crackles, pursing his lips. There’s a chance that someone will walk by and see him using it as warmth as he walks to the bakery, but he can’t be bothered to worry about it. Bitter winds bite through his thin jacket and into his skin, and Oikawa wishes he had done some sort of spell to prevent having to deal with the winter weather yesterday.

Heavy frost lines the ground, his shoes crunching through as he walks down the street. With winter comes white, the snow dancing down from the clouds, sticking to your hair and turning it silver. It’s beautiful in the same way roses are: pleasing to the eye, sharp to the touch. And yet, something about the cold season enchants him at the same time it drags him down. Another bout of cold air rushes through him, and Oikawa brings the flame closer in attempt to warm his chattering teeth. Something akin to a blizzard brews in his chest, but he pushes it away as he stands in front of the bakery, fumbling with one hand to open the door.

The inside of the bakery where Oikawa works is home to a draft in the mornings. It’s still warmer than outside, though, and Oikawa shrugs off his coat, outing the flame in his palm. He trades the jacket for an apron, tying it behind his back as he walks behind the counter to the kitchen, flicking on the lights as he goes. The scent of sugar fills his nose, and Oikawa sighs, tying his hair back with a bandana.

December is always the busy time of the year, when people come for Christmas cakes and goodies alike. Oikawa doesn't mind the work: it brings his mind away from the hole that gnaws at his chest when the winter months roll around. As he reaches up to grab the flour, he hears a faint chime of the door opening, the sound perking his head towards the outside. The bakery wasn't open yet, and Oikawa rolls his eyes as he dusts the flour from his hands, walking to the counter, ready to tell off whoever showed up.

Instead of an ignorant customer, however, he is met with Hinata, whose smile was enough to warm the cold room. Oikawa drops his scowl immediately, smiling at the sight of his boyfriend, who leans forwards onto the counter to stand closer to Oikawa.

“You left before I even got up.” Hinata says, pouting his lips. 

“I have to work, Shou-chan.” Oikawa replies, moving to press their foreheads together.

“Nope, not a good excuse.” Hinata pouts. “If you’re going to escape early in the mornings to help out on days you don’t even work, then I’m coming along too.”

“But Iwa-” Oikawa protests, guilty for making Hinata wake so early.

“Will sleep until, like, ten. Which gives us five hours.” Hinata tells him. “C’mon, Tooru, you don’t need to work yourself like this.”

Oikawa sighs, dropping his shoulders in defeat. He knows Hinata is right, that he drags himself out before first light only to pull himself away in the dull diverse of his thoughts. Hinata smiles, and the action alone is enough to lift Oikawa slightly. With a smile still on his face, Hinata slides around the counter and into the kitchen, Oikawa grabs for an apron for the younger. As Oikawa slips it over his head, tying the back snuggly, Hinata turns, reaching to pet the stray hair that move from his bandana.

“You look pretty with your hair like this.” Hinata whispers. Oikawa flushes at the sudden compliment, making Hinata grin as he stepped away to turn to the cakes that Oikawa was making.

The two work in uncharacteristic silence, Hinata only speaking to ask a question. Oikawa answers, his eyes lighting up as he spoke. Baking was something he did with his mother, huddled over the wood stove, where Oikawa learnt to control his flame and bring water to a boil at his will. He misses her, but Hinata is beside him, looking towards him with eyes wide and full of wonder, and Oikawa breaths steady, calming himself as the image of his mother slips into his head.

Hinata does a lot of the mixing, while Oikawa uses fire magic to cook. It takes a lot of practice to perfect, but Oikawa knows when he smells shortbread and sugar that they managed alright, Hinata looking back at him with a grin. Without any other warning, the shorter had catapulted onto him, wrapping his arms around Oikawa’s neck and pressing a wet kiss to his lips. Oikawa freezes in surprise before responding, leaning back and sliding his hands down Hinata’s back. 

Distracted by the kiss, Oikawa doesn't realize that Hinata has undone his apron. Hinata kicks it away, his own joining, and pulls Oikawa out of the kitchen, waving to the other employee who just walked in as he gathered their coats.

~

They sit in front of the fireplace, Hinata enamoured with the shadows Oikawa crafts from the flames. Iwaizumi watches, fondness brewing in his heart, the flames warming his cold hands. He hates the cold, and with no space to grow outside, their house has become filled to the brim with plants. Iwaizumi’s skin had started to turn olive, spouts blooming from his fingertips without him nothing. Neither of his boyfriend’s seemed to mind either way, Hinata pressed against his chest, Oikawa’s chin resting on his shoulder.

The fire pops again, and Iwaizumi digs his chin into Hinata’s sweet smelling hair. He always smells of lavender and rose, but today, he carries a hint of sugar.

“When do you think it’ll snow?” Hinata asks, closing his eyes and pressing against Iwaizumi’s chest. He was sure that the younger can feel his heart beat, and Iwaizumi simply tangles his hands in Hinata’s hair, turning to Oikawa, who breaks the stare and looks away.

“I’m working on it,” He mutters, shuffling to rest his head in Hinata’s lap. The younger strokes his head, allowing Oikawa to snuggle closer as the hurricane in his chest swells.

Hinata swallows the knot in his throat as he watches the vines in the house tense, forcing himself to relax, timing his breathing to Iwaizumi’s, a steady rhythm, in and out, in and out. It hurts, it hurts so much to see Oikawa so despondent, to watch clouds brew over the velveteen night sky he loves so much, covering the stars with icy shadows. He can’t see, but Oikawa’s eyes glaze over as the stares at the fiery coals, at the flame that slows burn’s itself out. He shuts his eyes, chest slowing as sleep engulfs his senses.

Outside, a hurricane brews as icy rain pelts from the sky.

~

December slips by like water from a closed palm, and with it, the holidays creep up like children on halloween. Hinata sells handmade christmas cards when he isn’t trying to sort out his thoughts and worries. Christmas means family, means phone calls to people who probably forget his face and a sister he hasn’t seen since she moved to the city. The pencil in Hinata’s hand slips from his fingers and clatters to the floor, leaving a smudge of grey across his sketch. Hinata sighs, closes his sketch book and tries to rub the charcoal from his hands. 

He’s lonely in the apartment— Iwaizumi seeking shelter and warmth in the greenhouses, trying to find somewhere to stretch his branches now that the winter has set in, Oikawa bundled up in the bakery, working overtime and trying to earn an extra dollar. It’s unsettling, the quietness of the main room without laughter or bickering, the missing element of chiding remarks of soft words. Somehow it manages to hum vertigo in Hinata’s ears, buzzing and dizziness like a gun had just been shot. 

(Instead of tasting iron, he tastes paint and the inside of his mouth and the scent of earth that still hasn’t washed from his clothes.)

Hinata hops down from where he was sat on the kitchen counter, fills up an empty glass bottle with water for the plants. Lately, the little clouds Oikawa had spawned above each one were freeing over, leaving frost overtop of the camellia leaves and forcing Iwaizumi awake with frostbite. They decided, unanimously, silently, to water without magic until Oikawa could sort out the enchantment and what he had done wrong. As Hinata douses the collection of iris, he thinks of Oikawa’s expression when the lilies froze over, thinks of how the momentarily surprise was washed back with apathy in the form of carelessness. Hinata takes a seat next to the roses, lets one of the steams reach out towards him and wrap around his arm, minding the thorns that threaten to pick his hands.

“It’s boring around here, isn’t it?” Hinata asks the rose.

The rose ruffles its petals as if to agree, tightens its grip on Hinata’s wrist until he pets the petals. Hinata sighs, loud and overdramatic, leans back against the wall and kicks his legs out in front of him. 

“Oikawa always gets distant in the winter, doesn’t he?” Hinata asks the rose. 

The rose makes a motion that Hinata can only assume to be a nod, flops down onto his forearm in a lazy manner. Hinata snorts, flicks the bud only to be pricked with a thorn in return. A small yelp escapes past his lips, arm stinging. The flower doesn't managed to draw blood, so Hinata lets his offence fall away in moments, ignoring it as he shuts his eyes.

With frost comes freezer burn, comes the tides of feelings Hinata knows Oikawa can’t control. He doesn’t like to pry when it comes to Oikawa and his family life, much in the same way he keeps his own under lock and key, doesn’t want to bait him into a feeling he’s trying to forget.

Vaguely, Hinata wonders if the weather is what makes Oikawa feel this way, or if the snowstorms that slick the roads in ice are result of him. Cause, and effect. Input, output. Hinata feels another flower wrap around him like a blanket, let’s his brain drift closer to sleep. He was never good at math.

~

Iwaizumi lets Hinata draw in the greenhouses instead of alone in the apartment when he comes home to the sight of him blanketed in vines.

_But the plants_ , Hinata had argued, trying to nullify his own desires, _they’ll be all alone._

It’s a flimsy attempt that doesn’t work in the slightest, and Hinata agrees to be dragged by Iwaizumi to the humid glass buildings of the greenhouses. Hinata pulls one of Iwaizumi’s hats over his head, giggles as Iwaizumi tangles a scarf around the bottom half of his face.

Winter doesn’t agree with Iwaizumi, with so little warmth, everything that blooms lying dormant underneath the frost. Iwaizumi’s skin holds a warm green undertone to its brown colour, and small vines wrap around him seeking some kind of place to grow.Hinata joins their hands as they walk through the snow covered streets, pulls Iwaizumi closer and knocks his head against Iwaizumi’s shoulder. He can fear Iwaizumi shivering even under all of his layers, quirks the corners of his mouth and lets a laugh slip from his lips.

“Every year, I forget how much you hate winter,” Hinata tells him, looking up towards his face. Iwaizumi’s cheeks flush rosé, and he tears his eyes away and makes a noise of what may have supposed to be a gruff acknowledgement but only turned out to be a soft hum and a smile.

The greenhouses hold flowers for the florist parlours, roses left and right, carnations and sunflowers growing towards artificial light. When Iwaizumi enters, all of the plants straighten as if to stand attention, soldiers to a leader, students to a teacher. Hinata can feel roots squeeze his heart as Iwaizumi slides off his winter apparel, rolls out his shoulders and lets the buds across his arms blossom. Tiny bustles of baby’s breath and wild rose unravel from his arms, fall away as petals and leaves and fall to the floor onto to root themselves onto soil left behind from spilled pots and spilt bags. 

Hinata curls up on the space between two pots, crosses his legs and studies the way Iwaizumi interacts with the plants. He doesn’t need to say a word to speak to them, seems to know without even looking what they need to grow green. Sketch book balanced on one knee, Hinata draws Iwaizumi from behind, draws the plants arching around him in the same adoration he feels. Leaves tickle his chin, force giggles from him as he tries to focus on outlining Iwaizumi’s silhouette. Iwaizumi looks over his shoulder to smile at him as he works, eyes softening, an aura of magic around him.

The day trickles by slow like honey, thick like molasses and sweeter than he could expect. There’s a careful kind of music that comes along with silence and ambient noises, breathing, the wind, rusting of leaves and the scratch of pencil against paper. At the end of the day, Hinata stretches his arms, sleepy despite spending it curled up in different corners sketching plants. 

“Doesn’t Oikawa meet up with you on his way home from the bakery?” Hinata asks as Iwaizumi locks the door behind them on their way out.

“Not recently,” Iwaizumi replies. His posture stiffens as the cold air hits them, but Hinata wonders if it’s the nature of the question as well. “It’s Christmas, and sometimes memories come up that you don’t want to face. You know how it is.”

Hinata nods, because he does. He remembers the ocean, salt spray sticking to his skin and the image of Oikawa standing in the sand, water parting around him. He can smell fire burning, can taste the tide and driftwood. White lace charred black, watching his mother burn—

Hinata blinks his eyes back open, reaches out to squeeze Iwaizumi’s hand. He wonders if Oikawa thinks about his mother’s deathbed when the holidays come up, wonders if it plagues the back of his mind like his own. As Hinata and Iwaizumi trudge through the snowy streets, Hinata listens for the sounds of choir children and bells. Christmas grows closer, and he wonders if the holidays will taste as bitter now that he’s not spending them alone.

~

Oikawa breaths in peppermint and exhales ice. It’s a party trick he’s been trying in the hours when the bakery staff kick him out, saying _you’re working hard enough_. Chew the candy cane, blow snow past your lips like bubble gum. The sky is darker than Oikawa is comfortable with, low ceiling shutting him in as if the earth was a jar. Oikawa chokes on the claustrophobia that swells, coughs out a cloud of frost. 

The sky opens up, and it begins to snow. Oikawa doesn’t mean to scoff, but it happens before he’s realized what he is doing. Oikawa isn’t sure what emotion causes snowstorms besides melancholy and angst, in all his twenty-three years can’t decipher what he can do to stop it. It sends shivers through him, temperature dropping as the snow blows white across Oikawa’s line of vision. Yanking off his gloves, Oikawa lights a flame in his palm, holds it close to his chest as he begins to walk again.

_Stupid snow_ , he thinks. _Stupid winter, stupid emotions and weather._

The flame crackles and snaps in his palm, almost blows out when a gust of wind pushes by. Oikawa huffs and shields it with his other hand, lets it grow larger as his feet carry him towards a familiar destination.

The beach is half iced over, had exposed sand, wet with salt water as low tide pulls out towards the sea. Oikawa toes off his boots, leaves them amongst the snow and tiptoes over spokes off ice, across sinking patches of sand. The lip of the water brushes against his socks, now damp from snow and ocean water. Oikawa doesn’t focus on the freezing sensation in his feet, rather, on the burn that has faded from his hand.

The flame has gone out.

As he wades deeper into the ocean, Oikawa remembers. It was this time of year when his mother passed away, the coldest months when acute myeloid leukaemia flicked the lights out from her eyes. Blew out her candle. Snuffed out her flame. Killed her. Oikawa remembers choking on tears that burnt like fire, dumping the black dust into the oceans where she used to take him. 

He becomes very aware that his legs are numb to the point of hypothermia, and that the water has soaked all the way up to his chest. Oikawa clicks his tongue, takes a step away from the tide and allows himself to grovel at the feet of the ocean before lifting the water from his skin. He’s (un)lucky— without magic, the temperature alone would've killed him.

Oikawa doesn’t bother to spark another fire, walks home barefoot and carries his shoes in his hands. It’s like a walk of shame, nine inch heels traded for sneakers, sex traded for a poorly attempted plan of being able to experience something else other than numbness.

The sky does not close, and snow continues to fall.

~

Hinata is trying to work up the nerve to call his sister when Oikawa’s arms sling around his waist, chin knocks onto his head like deadweight. Hinata bristles, but otherwise allows for the touch, sighing heavily as Oikawa rocks them side to side, humming into his neck.

“Who’re ya calling~?” Oikawa asks voice low and sugary sweet.

Hinata bites back any fear or hesitation and replies bluntly. “My sister.”

Oikawa raises his eyebrows, spins Hinata around so that he is looking up to him. “Why?” He asks.

Hinata shrugs. “Christmas is coming up, and I wanted to see if she was coming down from the city. Are we staying with Hajime’s family?”

Oikawa nods, moves his hands so that they intertwine with Hinata’s. “Will Natsu mind the crowd?” 

Hinata pauses and bites his lip. It’s been a good year since he’s seen his sister— what with barely scraping up his portion of rent, let alone a bus ticket. Hinata can’t even find the answer on the tip of his tongue, feels his ears heat at lack on answer. Oikawa doesn't seem to mind, reaches towards him to brush a stray hair from his eye.

“You can invite her, how about that? She’s what, ten now? I’m sure her guardian will allow her to go if she wants,” Oikawa says.

Hinata nods, smiles softly at the drawn conclusion. When he flicks his eyes back up, Oikawa is smiling too, bright and joyful and everything Hinata has been missing.

Above them, mistletoe grows, hands above their hands like a sign. Hinata’s eyes move from the plant to where Iwaizumi stands in the doorway of the kitchen, subdued happiness gracing his lips.

“It’s the happiest I’ve seen you two in awhile,” Iwaizumi tells them. “Now go on, get with it.”

Oikawa laughs, loud, bright like sunlight off of water, is cut short by Hinata pressing his lips against his grin. Oikawa lets it melt off his face in an instant, pulls Hinata closer and dips him under the arch of the doorway. The kiss is broken by giggles that cannot be contained, and the entire world pauses just so the three can stand and smile, light bouncing off their smiles and from their eyes.

~

Natsu arrives at the bus station midday, and Hinata forces both Iwaizumi and Oikawa to take the day off to greet her. There are too many people crowding the platform for Oikawa to safely light a flame to keep them warm. Iwaizumi comically stays wrapped in scarfs, allowing Hinata to lean on the inside of his jacket. Oikawa towers above the most of the crowd, watching the street for the incoming bus. Eventually one comes, picking up the most of the crowd, leaving the three to stand at the front and wait.

Natsu arrives with just as much noise as her brother, bright smiles and loud cheers echoing her brother’s excitement at seeing her. They embrace for nearly a minute before Hinata pulls away and points out her circular glasses. Natsu beams, accepts it as a compliment before hiking her bag up her shoulder and turning to Oikawa and Iwaizumi.

“Are these your boyfriends?” She asks, narrowing her eyes and cocking her head. Iwaizumi’s brain short circuits, unsure of how to act around a ten year old, but Oikawa answers for her, nodding and extending a hand to shake. Natsu is taken aback when she realizes the hand that is in front of her is on fire, and Hinata bursts out into laughter as OIkawa extinguished the flame with a pout to his face.

Together they clamour into Iwaizumi’s pickup truck, squeezing four people in a cab meant for three with as much ease as possible. Hinata settles for sitting on Oikawa’s lap, using his chest as a pillow and trying not to disgust his sister with Oikawa romantic attitudes. The farm where Iwaizumi’s family lives is an hour out of town, and they spend it listening to bubblegum pop from her mp3 player and catching up.

“So, how’s school?” Hinata asks. 

“I hate math,” Natsu moans, smacking her head on the dash. She turns abruptly to Iwaizumi and cocks her head. “I saw your mother the other day, she was worrying about champagne— then there was something else about red flowers. I think you should know.”

Iwaizumi is a bit surprised, but the shock wears off when he remembers divination is a second nature, a way of like to Natsu. He makes an off remark about stopping at the next town for champagne, and Hinata cracks a joke at 

Oikawa laughs, and Hinata can feel the vibrations from his laugh buzzing through his chest. The road ahead stretches out for miles, and he can feel something tug in his chest as the destination grows closer.

Nostalgia tastes potent when they arrive at farmhouse, Iwaizumi’s extended family jabbering to him in Thai as he’s pulled away by family into the house. Natsu looks shocked, to say the least, but excited nonetheless. She finds a group of kids her age and runs off, waving Hinata goodbye, leaving him and Oikawa alone to carry in the bags. 

It’s one thousand shades of sunlight radiating from Hinata’s smile, excitement just shy of overwhelming Oikawa with emotion. It’s the first time they’ve spent the holidays together in a relationship, and the first time Hinata has spent it with Iwaizumi’s family. Somehow, the new tradition manages to only intensify the fear that lingers within him. As he heaps the last bag into the foyer, he realizes that he hasn’t thought of his mother once today. 

As Oikawa’s gut begins to twist, Hinata slips his way into his arms and hums.

“We aren’t forgetting, right?” Hinata whispers, reaching upwards to thread his hands through Oikawa’s hair.

“No,” Oikawa says, forcing the truth from his lips. “Of course not.”

It’s the last moment of privacy they have, the last kiss they can share without the noises of children’s giggles and mock gags accompanying them. Oikawa holds onto Hinata like a boey in a hurricane, breaths in ever detail of the amber in his eyes and drowns in the hallucination that there is nothing to worry about.

They get sucked into the bustle of Iwaizumi’s family quickly, Oikawa sent off to the kitchen to help cook under the guise of if he can boil water and light the stove, then he’s useful enough. Iwaizumi laughs at the look of pure terror in his eyes as half a dozen witches with household powers corner him and wrap an apron around his waist. Hinata feels his sides spilt at how well he blends into the hustle, pushing his hair from his face and getting straight to work.

Hinata and Iwaizumi are left to entertain the kids with a single rule: no fire (Hinata really wants to know the story behind what Oikawa did) and no wrestling competitions. Iwaizumi protests the later with his mother for a solid minute and a half, telling her _it’s character building, c’mon mama, I did it all the time._ It’s vermently shut down with a stern glare, and Iwaizumi doesn’t bring it up again. 

Entertaining kids means Iwaizumi making flower crowns for them all, Iwaizumi blooming poinsettias and Hinata weaving them through braided copper wire. The crimson leaves shine against the metal, and the kids are almost as infatuated with the jewelry as the magic it takes to make them. Hinata doesn’t quite grasp it— the casualness of magic in a home that he never experienced. Children begging to learn, asking _were you born like this, Hajime? Can you turn into a tree?_ It makes Hinata’s heart beat double time, makes him glow from the inside out. 

Christmas dinner is an occasion that starts with prayer and ends in the kids sneaking off from their table to run around outside while daylight fleets. Oikawa indulges in champagne, sips his glass with elegance and grace that makes Hinata want to scream. He and Iwaizumi share a glass of cranberry gingerale mixed with something else, all three of them trying not to be caught kicking shins under the table as talk and chatter swirls around them.

It’s muted, glowing amber with some kind of magic that doesn't come from anyone’s fingertips. Hinata leans a sleepy head onto Oikawa’s shoulders, hums as Iwaizumi begins to pet his hair.

And for a moment, it’s bliss, drinking in the sounds of laughter and the touch of the ones he loves. The next day there would be Christmas presents, and there would be giggles and tears, but Hinata embraces the moment with such love— embraces the idea that this is perfect enough to leave untouched. It’s all the comfort in the world fit into a single moment, and with that, he falls to sleep.

~

A common lie: all good things must go.

Good things often are always there, but ebb in their positivity based off of your own awareness. Bad things, Oikawa realizes, do much the same. 

He focuses the ache in his chest into making an ice rink out of the nearby park, presents it as a gift for the new year and drags his boyfriends down as the calendar changes. Streetlamps and Christmas lights brighten up the darkness of the night, and the stars shine down like fairies or gemstones, make his smile grow wider.

He can’t see the future, like Natsu, can’t understand oracles like Hinata, but as Oikawa watches Iwaizumi struggle to stay standing on ice, watches Hinata kneel over, clutching his sides in stitches, he realizes that his future is here, in a sleepy country town with two people he loves and forever spelt in magical ways he cannot explain. 

The feelings come, and he lets them be felt.

Above their heads, not a cloud crowds the sky.

**Author's Note:**

> chat with me on tumblr, spacegaykj !!!  
> have a wonderful holiday season~


End file.
